


Bossy

by showmeurteef



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Degradation, Makeshift Gag, Mild Roughness, Office Sex Roleplay, Other, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Strap-Ons, a world's best boss mug in the form of sex, but the plot is just that they're married n they're in love, cunt warming??, did i mention they're in love w each other, enby kihyun!!!!, exhibitionism mentioned, i flip flop thru job titles a bit pls forgive me it’s just rp, kihyun has a drama degree n kyuns just trying his best, like very self aware roleplay, mild possessive kink, petplay mentioned, they're in love, transmasc kyun!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25580404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showmeurteef/pseuds/showmeurteef
Summary: “Listen, Kihyun, I know you wanted to touch base with me about those spreadsheets I was supposed to send to... um... Marge?” Changkyun leans back in his seat, pushes his glasses farther up his nose, and forms steeple hands in front of his face. Very seriously considering. Very seriously cute in his Kihyun-approved eyewear. “But I’d rather touch bases, if you know what I mean.”changkyun tries his best to help kihyun fulfill her office sex fantasy , n it helps that he doesn't mind when she bosses him aroundextended warnings within
Relationships: Im Changkyun | I.M/Yoo Kihyun
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	Bossy

**Author's Note:**

> warnings:  
> \- established relationship = established boundaries etc  
> \- the roles they play are unruly subordinate & strict superior so if that makes u uncomfortable this might not be the fic for u !  
> \- n the obvious fanfics r not manuals on how to have safe sex or roleplay safely
> 
> let me know if u need anything else tagged/explained !!

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Changkyun’s fingernails clack away at his keyboard, spilling out nonsense on a blank document. The cursor blinks at him as he takes a second to breathe. To adjust his useless glasses. To straighten Kihyun’s tie around his neck.

He has ties of his own, sure. He’s an adult who attends friends’ weddings every so often, and who occasionally goes out to stuffy family dinners. And Changkyun’s tie is one of the few— _very_ few details that Kihyun left out of her fantasy. So, he could’ve easily worn his own tie. Maybe he could’ve forgone wearing a tie altogether; the things _are_ uncomfortable as shit.

_ncneuifn3u2v8fdvjhkivo0_

But Changkyun thinks the idea of wearing _Kihyun’s_ tie is a little sexy, even if it doesn’t exactly fit the scenario at hand. The idea behind the scenario —Changkyun’s eyes slide over stale cubicle walls, a mug filled with highlighters, a stack of manila folders— is that he’s an office worker. Kihyun’s coworker and subordinate, whom she barely knows, but is consistently and flagrantly shitty at his job. So, obviously, wearing Kihyun’s tie doesn’t go with the whole “We’re basically strangers and I’m really pissed off that you can’t do your job right, but also you’re... a little sexy?” vibe, but sue Changkyun for wanting to inject a little of his own sexual fantasies into Kihyun’s. Plus, it’s not like Kihyun minds little reminders that Changkyun is _hers_.

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Changkyun wonders how long he’s gonna have to keep fake typing until Kihyun is ready to yell at him or whatever. He should probably work on being a little more immersed in his role, for Kihyun’s sake, especially since she so kindly indulged his own maid fantasy last week. His insides get a little slick at the mere memory of Kihyun threatening to shove her feather duster up Changkyun’s ass. He clears his throat.

The gruff noise echoes throughout the empty office. Changkyun absently wonders how noisy it is here during the day. He isn’t _actually_ an office worker here —thank The Powers That Be— so he has no idea what it’s like to work with Kihyun. He wonders if she’s as nitpicky and uptight at work as she is at home, if she takes the lead in every team project, if the current CEO knows that she’ll take his position someday and do it _way_ better than he ever could. Changkyun smiles to himself, settling into the creaky rolling chair.

He hopes that Kihyun’s office has better accommodations than Hoseok’s cubicle. Kihyun never complains about little work things because she has this thing about “littering conversations with insignificant details,” which Hoseok told Changkyun is _really_ about her trust issues, but Hoseok’s weepy heart does tend to steer him towards melodrama, _but_... 

But, anyways, what if Kihyun’s chair is _this_ uncomfortable? Changkyun wonders how expensive a nice one would be; back support, cushioned armrests, the works. Maybe he could have it shipped here to surprise Kihyun—

_“Changkyun.”_

Changkyun jumps. His knees knock painfully against the flimsy desk. Kihyun’s hand curls around the top of his cubicle, wedding band missing. Now, _that’s_ a wardrobe choice consistent with the roleplay scenario, but it still makes Changkyun’s heart hurt a little bit.

She sighs and steps into the cubicle. She’s just in her usual work uniform of black slacks, a button up, and a tie, but there’s something oddly sexy about the boring office worker look today. Maybe it’s the way she’s standing —hands on her hips, back straight— or maybe it’s the way she’s looking at him. Like her annoying subordinate. Like she can’t _believe_ she’s had to walk all the way from her office to see him about some mistake.

When did Kihyun get so goddamn good at acting?

“Are you just _staring_ at your screen? Have you even been working?” 

Changkyun clears his throat again. Right. He was supposed to be working. He works here.

“Um. Yes, Kihyun. I’ve been working. I just—”

She holds a hand up to silence him and huffs a stray hair from her forehead. Changkyun folds his hands in his lap, blankly blinking up at her.

“I don’t want to hear it. I walk all the way from my office—” She makes a jerky, sweeping gesture, and her favorite cufflinks —tiny pressed flowers set against black resin that are grossly preppy in an endearing sort of way— catch Changkyun’s eye. Maybe he can get her to roll her sleeves up to her elbows at some point and show off her forearms. 

Changkyun shuffles his converse against the weird, flat carpet. He may be old enough to own ties, but he is most _definitely_ not old enough to own any ugly dress shoes. He could compromise on the office attire for Kihyun, sure, but he _cannot_ compromise on the cool, quirky vibe he gives off in his customized converse.

“— _just_ to speak to _you_ , and I find out that you’re not even working. You’re just sitting there. Doing nothing. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Uh...” Changkyun runs a nervous hand through his hair. Kihyun is really good at this— she’s almost convinced Changkyun that he’s fucked up her workflow, that his salary is in trouble. “I’m... sorry?”

She balls her hands into soft little fists at her sides. Spit collects beneath Changkyun’s tongue.

“I could... make it up to you though? Do you want...” His tongue stumbles. They discussed this whole scenario in detail, of course, but they didn’t script anything out. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to proposition Kihyun, or if she’s going to initiate things, or... “A coffee? I could go to the break room real quick and make you a coffee, or something. I could bring it to your office.”

“No, Changkyun,” she _spits_ his name out. “I don’t want you to bring me a coffee. I want you to do your actual work, like, what you were hired for in the first place. God. Who _hired_ someone like you?”

“Well, human resources, I assume—”

“Don’t be a smartass. You’re on thin ice as is. My office. Now.” 

Without another word, she turns on her heel and heads back into the maze of cubicles, ugly dress shoes catching the ugly fluorescent light. Changkyun can’t imagine how she stomachs _that_ outfit and _this_ decor five days a week, but bless her for bringing home the money that Changkyun’s poetry and part time barista gig fail to earn.

Anyways. She’s walking quickly, with short-tempered steps, and she’s _not_ looking back to see if Changkyun’s following. He leaps out of the cubicle —mentally apologizing to Hoseok for the highlighters he hears spilling from their cup as the chair bounces against the desk— and scurries after Kihyun. He skirts the cubicles as best as he can —only Hoseok agreed to facilitate their roleplay with his cubicle, and they’re not _rude_ , just horny— until he reaches a respectful distance from Kihyun’s heels. He’s grateful that she slows down a bit to let him catch up, but he doesn’t comment on it. 

He’s her coworker. He barely knows her. _And_ he’s in trouble.

After a few moments spent psyching himself up a bit by thinking of sexy things they’ve done and sexy things they’re about to do, a shiver creeps down Changkyun’s spine at the sight of Kihyun’s name posted beside the door of a fancy, frosted glass office. He believes that this is what boring office workers call “fish tanks.” He smiles; his little shark spouse swimming around her tank all day, sniffing for blood. _Aw_.

“Well?” Kihyun snips, and Changkyun realizes she’s been holding the door open for him all this time. He gulps down any further cutesy ruminations before politely ducking his head and sliding into her office.

The door shuts behind them with a neat _click_. Changkyun shuffles his feet awkwardly, rubbing the prickly hairs at the base of his head. The space is simple. Modern. Everything’s neatly arranged, washed in slate grays and dark woods, and almost completely devoid of anything personal. A couple of photos and kitschy knick knacks are the only giveaways that the place belongs to Kihyun at all. Maybe Hoseok wasn’t so far off with the trust issues thing.

Kihyun takes slow, measured steps to her desk —sleek and wooden and much nicer than Hoseok’s sorry excuse for a workspace— and gestures to the seat set before it. She slides into her own chair —Changkyun’s heart shatters at the creakiness of the chair— and just _tap tap tap_ 's her little fingers on the desk until Changkyun unfreezes.

He darts into the chair, feeling very much like a kid who’s just gotten called to the principal’s office. He’s never been fired before, so the school thing’s his only point of reference, but he figures that office life is a lot like elementary school life. Uniforms, awkward birthday celebrations, communal water drinking. He pities the future metaphorical student to Kihyun’s principal. Some poor asshole out there will be at the receiving end of Kihyun’s beautifully, _terrifyingly_ arched brow during a real Formal Reprimand. He’d kind of like to sit in on it.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Kihyun crosses her legs and folds her hands on top of her desk, waiting.

Changkyun thinks he might be starting to get it— the whole irritated superior thing. It’s a little sexy. Changkyun, forced to sit in an uncomfortable chair that’s more style than substance, stared down at by his prickly superior, and weighed down by the impending scolding hanging in the air.

“Listen, Kihyun, I know you wanted to touch base with me about those spreadsheets I was supposed to send to... um... _Marge?_ ” Changkyun leans back in his seat, pushes his glasses farther up his nose, and forms steeple hands in front of his face. Very seriously considering. Very seriously cute in his Kihyun-approved eyewear. “But I’d rather _touch bases_ , if you know what I mean.”

Kihyun’s face scrunches up and her eyes lift to the ceiling as she tries to stifle her laughter. Changkyun’s warm in several different places.

“This is serious, Changkyun. Why don’t you come over here so we can run over those spreadsheets together? I’d like to help you understand what you did wrong, so that you don’t embarrass me in the boardroom again.” Kihyun smiles, tone incredibly sweet, but it feels so vicious. So spiteful. Changkyun grips his thighs, nails scratching against the seams of his slacks.

He wonders if Kihyun’s actual subordinates feel like this. Imagine reporting to _her_ , having to face _her_ scrupulous judgment from nine to five. Changkyun’s lips part wetly.

“Now.” She beckons him closer with two curled fingers, eyeing the papers spread out on her desk with a tinge of disgust. What an asshole. Changkyun shivers.

He rises from his seat, limbs strangely jittery, and Kihyun doesn’t spare him a glance until he’s right by her rolly chair. If they were at home, he might lean against its squishy back or absently swivel it from side to side to amuse/annoy Kihyun, but that somehow doesn’t feel... appropriate. He folds his hands politely, suddenly more aware of the pressure his tie— _Kihyun’s_ tie puts around his throat. Kihyun pulls out a yellow highlighter, and the squeaky _pop_ of the cap coming off goes straight to Changkyun’s dick.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong with this, Changkyun?” Kihyun gently taps a spreadsheet laid out for him. Her forehead bunches around raised brows. She already knows she’s about to be disappointed and irritated by whatever comes out of Changkyun’s mouth next.

His teeth tug at his bottom lip. He shakes his head. He really _doesn’t_ know what’s wrong with the sheet —it’s all just corporate gibberish to his artistically inclined ass— but it sure _feels_ like he should know.

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Just as I thought.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. Disappointed. Irritated. “You don’t know what you’re doing at all, do you?”

Changkyun pouts miserably down at the sheet. Rows and columns. Little black numbers sandwiched between words that all just look like synonyms for money. Utterly meaningless. And, yet, Changkyun has the bizarre suspicion that he might be fired over it.

“Well? _Do you?_ ”

“No, I don’t know what I’m doing,” Changkyun mumbles, not really wanting to meet Kihyun’s heavy gaze.

“You’re bad at your job?”

“I’m bad at my job.”

There’s a thick moment of silence, and Changkyun chances a look at Kihyun. She’s pursing her lips, expression distant and unreadable. It makes Changkyun nervous. Every spindly nerve fiber in his body zings to life.

“You want to be better at your job, don’t you? Or, maybe I’m giving you too much credit.” She tilts her head, as if genuinely asking, with the highlighter trapped between her thumb and forefinger. Changkyun swallows the ridiculous thought that his next response will make or break his whole career. Has he been married to a real life actress this _whole_ time?

“I do. I want to be better.” He risks a small gesture towards the incomprehensible sheet, widening his eyes. Naive. Eager. “Can you show me how?”

Kihyun’s lip quirks up. She clears her throat and rolls closer to the desk. The highlighter screeches against paper. One highlighted box, another, and _another_. Tight, “constructive” criticism in harsh red pen accompanies each yellow dash. The comments and corrections mean nothing at all to Changkyun— surely, Kihyun knows this. 

But what _does_ mean something to Changkyun is the way that Kihyun’s back arches up from the chair. The way that her voice stretches out at the end of each sentence.

He wonders if every bit of this has been part of her plan so far. Did she lay out this sheet just for him? Did she plan out her critiques beforehand, while he was fucking around in Hoseok’s cubicle?

Changkyun doesn’t understand a thing that she’s writing down, but he tries to believe it. He digests the idea that Kihyun is teaching him how to improve his work. For her _own_ gain. She doesn’t give a shit whether Changkyun actually improves or moves up the corporate ladder. She just doesn’t want to be embarrassed again. She just doesn’t want to have to walk all the way to his sad little cubicle again. Changkyun’s lower half melts into his shoes.

“There.” She caps the highlighter. Swivels to properly fix Changkyun in her gaze. “Do you get it now?”

Changkyun isn’t sure what to do next. Is it sexier to have learned something from his superior, or should he make Kihyun explain it all again? What would a _truly_ shitty coworker do?

Without asking, he plucks a pen from the holder on her desk, and proceeds to scribble out some basic multiplication —Kihyun snickers behind him— along with the word, “expenditures,” in his best handwriting. He steps back from the spreadsheet to admire his handiwork. Yes. He may not be able to think up a convincing workplace blunder on the spot, but this will do. He’s _horrible_. He only hopes he’s pulling off the cute, yet bumbling, office worker look well enough to keep his job.

“You _seriously_ think this is correct?” Kihyun’s eyes narrow, easily following along with Changkyun’s pseudo-mistakes. Changkyun’s head grows fuzzy.

“Yeah. Seriously.”

“How are you so...” Kihyun sighs and collapses father into her chair. “What’s it gonna take to get through to you?”

 _Ah_. Another choice to make. Improv is so hard.

“Maybe the problem isn’t my skill set,” he offers.

“Your skill set?”

“Yeah, like, I can _do_ the calculations.” He fiddles with the end of his tie and focuses on the confused tilt to Kihyun’s mouth. “I’m just not disciplined enough to make _sure_ they’re done correctly. I don’t care about this... uh, business... junk. I’d rather be back at home with my loving spouse, you know?”

Kihyun closes her eyes for a moment, obviously fighting down an exasperated smile at both his limited business knowledge and his endless urges to seem suave. Then, she begins to remove her cufflinks to roll her sleeves up, and Changkyun mentally congratulates both himself and his dick.

Okay, he gets it. Office sex with your hardass superior _is_ worth fantasizing about. The cufflinks _clink_ in a little ring dish beside her keyboard, rolling around right beside her wedding band. Changkyun hums happily.

“Discipline, huh?”

Changkyun nods. Returns his hands to his front. Respectfully folded.

“If I teach you how to be more disciplined, you’ll do a good job next time? You won’t disappoint me?” Kihyun rolls back from the desk ever so slightly, and electricity runs through the base of Changkyun’s spine, scattering throughout his core.

“Exactly. Discipline me. I wanna be good for you and the company. But mostly for you.” He lightly swings his hips from side to side, an innocent act that feels a little corny, but does wonders to the warmth building in the air. “Please, Kihyun?”

“Fine. But you’re not getting paid overtime for this.” She fixes him in an obviously exaggerated glare, and Changkyun bites his tongue to keep from giggling. 

“Of course, boss. Whatever you say.”

“That’s a good start.”

Changkyun swallows globs of hot spit as Kihyun pushes all the way back from her desk. Sleeves rolled. Feet planted firmly on the ground. Fancy tie clip gleaming in the low lighting of her office. Thank god there aren’t any fluorescent fixtures in here— that would totally ruin the mood.

“If you’re gonna learn discipline, you’re also gonna need to learn how to show me some respect.” 

“Respect?” Changkyun echoes, tongue a little heavy in his mouth.

“ _Respect_.” Kihyun nods. She lifts her palms and gestures to the floor. So slowly, so gently. Changkyun’s soggy head can only absorb the sharpness of her smile. “Kneel, please.”

Changkyun’s hands curl into fists. He isn’t really sure what would be the sexiest thing to do here, but he _wants_ to listen to Kihyun. She doesn’t wanna be embarrassed, disappointed. She wants him to be good. And _he_ wants to give her whatever _she_ wants.

Changkyun tugs his slacks up a bit, bunching them at his thighs, so that he can kneel before Kihyun properly. The floor’s awfully uncomfortable, but Changkyun figures that’s right. That’s appropriate. Kihyun _should_ be looking down at him from her questionably comfortable chair, while bruises sprout on his knees from the hard office carpet. 

Changkyun wonders if Kihyun would keep a little plush rug tucked away for him, for next time they do this. Like supplies for an... unconventional... “bring your pet to work day.”

“Are you sorry?” She rests her forearms on her thighs and bends forward slightly. Changkyun fights to keep his hands by his sides. Arches his back. Blinks.

“Yes, I’m _very_ sorry,” he replies, enunciating the best he can. Kihyun just _looks_ at him, so he continues, “I’m sorry I fuc— I mean, _messed_ up. I should’ve been more careful. I haven’t been working very hard.”

“You haven’t been?”

“No, Kihyun.” His lungs inflate with a million terrible ideas. Reminding himself that he wants to be a good actor, he shuffles forward and rests his chin on the very edge of Kihyun’s knees. He would _hate_ to overstep any professional boundaries, of course. “I haven’t been, _especially_ not compared to you. You work so hard; everyone knows it. And I disappointed you. I embarrassed you. I don’t deserve to be your inferior.”

“Oh, baby—“ Electricity prickles Changkyun’s skin at the out of character pet name, “—I think that’s _exactly_ what you deserve to be.”

Kihyun’s eyes wrinkle adorably around a wide smile. Changkyun believes her. Believes every word that comes out of her mouth. She can treat him however she likes; she's his _superior_.

“I think the problem here is that you don’t know your place, let alone how to do your job.”

“But I wanna— I wanna learn how to do a good job. I wanna make you proud.”

Kihyun makes a thoughtful noise and cups his cheek, thumb stroking his pinkish skin.

“Show me that you know your place, and I might really believe that,” she hums.

Changkyun nods, not really sure how suited the fuzzy urges in his head are to the whole shitty coworker thing.

“Let’s start by showing a little more respect, hm? Call me M. Yoo.”

“Yes, M. Yoo.” Changkyun’s breath puffs out hotly from his nostrils. He feels silly for not calling Kihyun that in the first place. She’s his superior, after all. He needs to show her some respect.

“And you do what _I_ say. You follow _my_ lead.”

Her thumb presses into his cheek.

“Of course. You’re in charge, M. Yoo.” For the sake of Kihyun and the dampness between his legs, he bites back a giggle at how corny he sounds. “I’m just your lowly underling. This office is your castle, and I _live_ to serve.”

Kihyun rolls her eyes at his overacting, and Changkyun suppresses his own responding eye roll. He doesn’t know what more she expected of him. Only _one_ of them actually attended an art school, after all. Changkyun’s dramatics are 100% au naturel. She should be proud that he’s keeping up this well so far.

Kihyun’s fingers find the sensitive bit behind his ear, and Changkyun’s brain shuts down for a second. He just breathes. And gulps. And leans into the tender touch.

“I’m so disappointed in you, Changkyun. I expected such big things from you, but you barely know a goddamn thing about working here,” she sighs. “I bet you don’t even know the difference between accounts receivable and accounts payable, do you?”

And, of course, Changkyun does know the difference. Kihyun knows he does. You receive from one, you pay the other. Easy. But it’s the _idea_ of Kihyun underestimating him on something so small, of being so unnecessarily _mean_ to her coworker that makes Changkyun’s stomach twitch. His knees ache against the floor.

He shakes his head.

Kihyun rubs little circles into the exposed scalp behind his ear, before lightly brushing the shell of it. Changkyun catches the tiniest hint of a smile on her face as his eyes start to flutter. As his posture starts to soften. She loves to see how easily she affects him.

Her hand lifts his chin, flutters down his throat, lands at his collar. She smooths it —though Changkyun doubts there’s a single wrinkle in the thing because _she’s_ the one who ironed it— and then catches the tie. He leans back on his heels to watch her lay it against her palm. Her brows furrow.

“Isn’t this _my_ tie?”

“Yes,” Changkyun croaks, brain scrambling to preserve the coworker illusion. He could just bring up his own ownership thing, but the tension between them is too thick to slice through now. “I— I borrowed it from your... office? From the extra outfit you have stashed. While you were out. At that... meeting...”

Kihyun’s eyebrows raise, more surprised and amused than her character should be, but Changkyun gulps down what he assumes is her finally feeling impressed at his rapidly improving improv skills. He’s _so_ good at this that he’s probably, _definitely_ also earned a theatre degree. Their diplomas could have matching frames. Aw.

“You snuck into my office— my _personal_ office while I was at a very important meeting? Don’t you have anything better to do than snoop around?”

Changkyun wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, careful not to disturb Kihyun’s hold on the tie and _very_ careful to maintain eye contact.

“Why didn’t you just go ahead and steal my extra pair of shoes, huh? _Clearly_ , you could use some more professional footwear.” She glares daggers at his converse. Changkyun can’t help the grumble that pours from his mouth. 

“What was that?” Kihyun winds the tie around her fingers and _tugs._ Changkyun’s nose nearly brushes her chin.

“Nothing,” he mumbles, hands hanging uselessly at his sides. Really? _This_ is the angle Kihyun is using to push the scenario forward. She should leave Changkyun’s super cool shoes out of this.

“ _Nothing_...” She pulls Changkyun upwards until his back arches, until he can’t look away from her pinched face. “So, you understand that you’re out of uniform?”

He nods. She frowns.

“Say it.”

Changkyun’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, heartbeat pulsing in his throat. This is ridiculous. He doesn’t even work here.

“I’m out of uniform.”

Her lips tug into a wry smile. She knows it’s absurd; it’s literally impossible for him to be violating any sort of uniform code. But she likes making him say it, anyways. She likes watching him sweat. Asshole. 

“You won’t wear those shoes again?”

Changkyun purses his lips. If she means he can’t wear them _ever_ again, they’re gonna have problems. That request’s practically grounds for divorce.

“I won’t wear these shoes again.”

“Good.”

She releases the tie, and Changkyun misses the hold for only a second, before she guides his head back down into her lap. Closer, this time. More tender and less precarious. His cheek squishes against her leg, pushing his glasses up awkwardly. She runs her fingers through his hair and strokes his scalp, undoubtedly messing up his office-appropriate hairstyle, but Changkyun doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about _anything_ , as long as she keeps smiling down at him like that. 

“I think about you a lot while I work,” she murmurs.

Changkyun’s eyes widen. This sure seems out of character, but he stays silent. He wouldn’t want to ruin any grand soliloquy she might be setting up for, _or_ to ruin his chances of continuing to be pet so softly.

“You come to my mind during staff meetings, while I take my lunch, even when I’m here working overtime. Though, I guess that last one is because you always get all whiny and clingy if I get home past 8:00.”

Changkyun smiles. His insides feel so gooey. This position is growing more uncomfortable by the second, but he loves looking up at Kihyun like this. Her eyes never leave his face as she talks. Her lips quirk and twist and settle around each word. She’s so pretty. So perfect. He’d do just about anything for her, including kneel on the hard floor in office-appropriate slacks that do nothing for his ass, and risk the safety of his very cool shoes.

“Some days, I sit at my desk and...” Her squat palm cups the crown of his head. She inhales sharply, and Changkyun is utterly caught by it. Trapped by it. Frozen until the air pushes back out through her little angular nostrils. “And all I can think about is you.”

It would probably be better, more _respectful_ if Changkyun stayed quiet; chastised coworker, and whatnot. But he can’t help it. He has to know more. He has to keep hearing her voice.

“What about me?”

“Fucking you.”

Changkyun’s eyelids flutter. His mouth cracks open. It shouldn’t be that surprising. They have a lot of sex, and she’s definitely exaggerating for the sake of the scene, but the way she pushes those words into the quiet office space is _electric_. Like she really shouldn’t be saying them. Not while in the office and certainly not to Changkyun. Maybe he hasn’t quite reached her caliber of improv, after all.

“I think about you getting me off from beneath my desk while I work. I think about pressing you against the glass, so that anyone walking by could see what a mess you are.”

Changkyun’s heart pounds against his eardrums, brain swimming in hot blood. If she’s as turned on as he is, she’s doing a damn good job of hiding it. She’s closing her eyes, as if imagining it all, but that’s the only giveaway that this isn’t entirely in character. Otherwise, her posture is as tight as ever and her hand is still gentle against his scalp.

He snaps his mouth shut, afraid to start drooling on Kihyun’s perfectly pressed pants, and shuffles forward slightly. He wants to be closer. He wants to press his mouth against Kihyun, to give her whatever she wants, to please her.

“Can I?” He swallows, unsure if any more words will make it out of his wet mouth, but hoping she’ll understand what he means anyhow.

She opens her eyes. Places her hands on the chair’s armrests. Jerks her chin.

Changkyun tosses a few ideas around his head, before settling on using his teeth to unzip her pants. He could say that it’s a respect thing —how _dare_ he touch her with his grubby, inferior hands— but he’s really just motivated by how sexy he knows that Kihyun finds the move. Sweet little eyes looking up at her from behind round glasses, sweet little mouth opening to catch her zipper between his teeth. His teeth, tongue, and lips clumsily work around the slacks’ button, a proud noise spilling over her clothed dick once he’s successful.

He lifts away briefly to allow Kihyun to shimmy her pants past her hips, admiring the way her chest shudders around each heavy breath. Okay, he’s done it. He’s turned her on. He’s fucking _good_ at this, isn’t he? A certified roleplay expert.

He doesn’t bother to mask his smile as he moves towards her once more, aiming for the waistband of her fancy designer underwear, but a hand quickly slaps against his chest. Stops him. _Pushes_ him.

He lands painfully on his ass, frowning. Kihyun stands, glowering. 

He stuffs frustration into his belly. He’s her subordinate, he reminds himself. He’s already in trouble, so he has no room to argue. She’s his boss. He can’t— 

“Fuck you,” he grumbles. “No fair.”

Her eyebrows shoot straight to her hairline, and Changkyun briefly considers that the poor asshole out there who’ll be at the receiving end of a real Formal Reprimand from her might be _him_. His insides clench.

“I thought you wanted to learn discipline?” she says, not so much asking as she is mocking. She removes her —ugly, boring, uncool— shoes and pants, setting them neatly on her chair. But, crucially, she leaves her shirt and tie on. It’s hard to savor the win from the floor, though, wet and needy and _mocked_.

“I thought you wanted to fuck me, M. Yoo?” he replies, twisting his tone until her face darkens. Apparently, his boss can dish it out, but she can’t take it. Changkyun’s frown threatens to turn into a proud smile at her seemingly endless drama skills.

“What would your loving spouse think?” she asks, _clearly_ just trying to delay the process even further, trying to see how much riling up Changkyun can take before he bursts.

“Eh.” He shrugs. “She’s a bit of a hardass, but I think it’ll be worth it.”

“She probably thinks you could use some discipline, too, you little shit.” She huffs out a laugh, then points harshly at the top drawer in her bookshelf. “Get my strap, _if_ you can manage to do that right.”

Changkyun huffs with indignation and arousal, and crawls over to the drawer; the silent order to remain on his hands and knees — _below_ her— hangs in the air. He opens it to find her strap already fitted with his favorite dildo, complete with lube and a condom neatly tucked beside it, laying on top of some folded clothing.

“You really have an extra outfit in here?” He twists around, surprise momentarily overtaking his role.

“Of course.” She tosses a palm through the air and fixes Changkyun in a narrowed gaze just to make him shiver. “What if some shitty coworker gets their disgusting come all over my uniform?”

Changkyun’s breath is hot. Scalding. He knows her reasons are probably more boring, more _painfully_ practical than anything —sudden rain, spilled coffee, etc.— but there’s _disgust_ in her voice. Like it was only a matter of time before he fucked up badly enough to receive _this_ kind of lesson. Like she's always expected the worst from him. 

Changkyun’s fingers curl around the dildo, the lube. Brain heavy. Tongue wet. Careful not to let the strap so much as graze the floor, he shuffles back to Kihyun, and offers the stuff up to her on open palms.

“M’lady,” he says, bowing his head. Kihyun’s exasperated sigh puffs out over his head.

“Get up.”

Changkyun does, and Kihyun immediately shoves him against the desk. The hard lip of it bites into his thighs. Jostled highlighters clatter behind him. Want twists his insides like wet rags.

Kihyun sets the strap aside, roughly undoes Changkyun’s pants, and _yanks_ them down. Changkyun’s heartbeat sloshes around in his eardrums.

“Do you want me to take my shoes off?” he asks, slightly embarrassed that he’s already panting, despite Kihyun’s familiarity with his record arousal time. “Entirely unrelated question: are Elvira socks more or less uniform-compliant than super cool converse with super cool doodles on them?”

Kihyun doesn’t respond. Just looks sharply at her fingers, carefully squeezing lube over them.

“Because when we decided that I wouldn’t wear the shoes again, you were a little unclear on when or where that should start, and I’m curious if similar rules apply to socks, or if—”

Kihyun makes an irritated, throaty noise and yanks Changkyun’s underwear to his knees. He groans lightly at the hint of restriction that the elastic puts around his legs.

“Do you _ever_ shut up?” Kihyun hisses. Her lubed fingers look extra shiny in office lighting.

“No. That’s my problem, remember?” His lip quirks up. He begins to count off on his fingers. “Disrespectful, undisciplined, can’t do my job right, don’t listen to my superiors...”

Kihyun’s jaw hardens, teeth locking together. And Changkyun almost believes it for a second. That he’s been giving Kihyun hell nine to five, Monday through Friday. That the boss has had _enough_.

Changkyun jumps as Kihyun reaches behind him, the highlighter her hand returns with only putting him more on edge. He really hopes that she’s not planning to write all over him and do calculations above his dick, or something. Highlighter is hard to scrub off.

“Open your mouth.”

Tentatively, he lets his lips part and stretches his tongue out to regain some sense of certainty. No matter how tiny and incompetent he is, the combination of long, slick tongue and cutesy glasses knocks Kihyun back on her heels a bit, giving Changkyun just enough room to breathe. _Just_ enough.

The highlighter clacks against his teeth. Spreads gross plastic taste over his tongue. Digs into the corners of his lip. Kihyun’s throat bobs.

“Bite down. Hold it there. Can you do _that_ right?” Kihyun’s lip curls. “Or, is that gonna be too difficult for you?”

Changkyun clamps his teeth down onto the highlighter, air puffing out of his nose as he imagines how ridiculous he must look. Trouserless, messy hair, loose tie, and highlighter trapped between his teeth like a horse bit. He has no idea if this is shaping the sexy coworker whom Kihyun had in mind, but if her ruddy cheeks and jerky movements are anything to go off of, he’s doing pretty well. Sparks fly within his skull.

He presses further back into the desk, savoring the thought that reddish indents might be left on his thighs until long after they’re through. Kihyun’s motions are tight and hurried as she gets herself ready. The strap harness is quickly pulled up to her waist, sharp snaps and harsh velcro noises bouncing against the fish tank’s walls. Dildo curved downwards. Chubby fingers slipping over the condom and lube. 

Changkyun feels spit sliding out from his mouth. Cool and gross.

“You’re a mess,” Kihyun scolds. 

Changkyun just nods, at first, before remembering that he’s supposed to be Kihyun’s coworker. Not her _very good boy_ husband. A relative stranger who functions as little more than a source of annoyance in Kihyun’s fluorescent-lit world.

“Does that embarrass you? Disappoint you?” He swallows globs of spit, straining to make his words come out clearly around the highlighter bit, but the angry crease in Kihyun’s forehead urges him on. He can do this. He can perform. “What will the interns think if they catch sight of _you_ fucking _me_ in the middle of the office? Kind of unprofessional to take your frustration out on me, don’t you think?”

“When I put that highlighter in your mouth—” She shoves Changkyun, forcing him into an awkward half-seated position on top of her scattered papers. “—that _wasn’t_ an invitation for you to continue talking.”

Changkyun’s core clenches, squelches, _burns_ as she curls her lip. The dildo bounces lightly with the aftershock of the harsh motion. She’s pissed. His boss is _pissed_ . Images of her storming over to his cubicle, her furiously tapping out scolding emails to him, her getting lost in thought about him during a board meeting tumble around his head. He really, _really_ gets the appeal of the whole scenario.

“Well, your instructions weren’t very clear,” he replies, spittle seeping out with each word. “Maybe you’re part of the problem here, _M. Yoo_. I would be better at my job, if you would just—”

Kihyun cuts him off with a scoff. She takes a step back— _barely_ a few inches from where Changkyun is perched on the desk, but his lungs deflate anyways. He’s too wet for her to be anywhere but right up against him, inside him. 

He tries his best to pout around the highlighter. Her expression doesn’t change. 

“You know, I was gonna finger you myself, but I don’t think you’ve earned it.” She makes a dismissive gesture with her lubed fingers. Changkyun sucks in spit. “Do it yourself. Is _that_ clear enough for you? Or do you need me to spell it out, _baby?_ ”

Changkyun doesn’t understand how she does it. How she turns the familiar and sweet pet name into something so _humiliating_. An actress _and_ a magician. His insides tie into knots. 

Shitty coworkers don’t just turn not-shitty the moment they’re told to be not-shitty. Changkyun knows this. He figures it must be part of the appeal for Kihyun; two corporate assholes going head to head until the superior, inevitably, takes back charge. Reclaims her status. Etcetera. He should probably keep up the arguing, disrespect, and disobedience until the very last moment. He should go and _go_ until Kihyun pours out every last drop of her frustration onto her incompetent, unbearable coworker and ends up with someone much more disciplined beneath her.

But he can’t help himself. Without a word, he nods gently, keeps his eyes on Kihyun, and slides a hand between his legs. A smile tickles at the corners of Kihyun’s mouth. He shivers. Two fingers drag warmth and wetness up to his dick. Circle lightly. Bend gingerly.

Kihyun steels her expression back into one of disappointment and disgust. Changkyun spreads his legs further, getting better access at his insides. _Inside._ Where Kihyun will be, if he’s lucky. If she’s feeling generous. If she’ll stoop that low.

He feels a lot like whatever weak, yet scalding hot, coffee they probably brew in the breakroom here. His hands struggle to move enough, but not too much. To keep himself somewhere between watery and acidic. One hand flits from the ghostly sensations on his scarred chest to the tight crackling of his dick, while the other works him open as slowly as possible. She watches him work with a familiar urgency in her eyes, but she doesn’t move to assist him.

Changkyun grunts as an ugly glob of spit trails down his chin, landing on the floor below. He wonders if Kihyun will make him clean it up— mop it up with his sleeve or lick it clean or some other gross, mean shit. Breathy moans fill the space between Kihyun and himself. He climbs higher, presses harder within himself. He tries not to touch his dick too much, for Kihyun. To wait for Kihyun. Wait until she finally— 

“Stop.” Kihyun’s voice comes out pressurized and thick. She’s gripping the base of the dildo. She’s inching closer to Changkyun. Changkyun sighs and gazes mournfully down at his slick fingers, placing each of his hands on the desk. 

“Did I do okay? Are you gonna fuck me now, M. Yoo?”

“Do you want me to submit a performance review, or something?” Kihyun’s chin wrinkles as she says it, incredibly pleased with herself. If Changkyun weren’t so feverishly horny, he might roll his eyes, or come up with a really clever comeback, or something. 

But he _is_ feverishly horny, so he can only spread his legs and let spit fall from his mouth and put as much desperation into his eyes as humanly possible.

“Nu-uh, that won’t work here, baby,” she tsks, momentarily sounding a bit more like her real self. “I want you to respect me. To know your place.”

Changkyun grips the desk as her words slow, as she touches the tip of the dildo to his dick. His breath falters.

“Have you done anything right today? This whole week, even?” she murmurs, brows furrowing as she concentrates on circling his dick lightly. It tickles his nerves all the way down to the pit of his stomach. He can feel his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

He shakes his head.

“What was that? Let me hear you say it.”

Shame settles beneath his tongue, mixes with too much saliva and the taste of plastic. He takes the highlighter from his mouth and sets it on the desk, momentarily relishing the way Kihyun’s lip curls slightly at the drool-coated thing rolling over what Changkyun assumes are important documents. Now _that’s_ a careless, incompetent move. 

“I haven’t done anything right. I’m shit at this, at everything here.”

His jaw aches slightly. His lips feel stretched at the corners. He swallows.

Visions of his character jamming up the printer and forgetting to water the plants and accidentally deleting important emails dance across his eyes. Maybe coworkers come to help, to cover his ass every once in a while because he wrote a really sweet message on their last joint workplace birthday card, or something. Or, maybe he’s _so_ incompetent that everyone in the office is actively ignoring his cries for help on the off-chance that he’ll be fired over an incorrectly stapled debriefing. Regardless, Kihyun would be there— _M. Yoo_ would be there, watching over his shoulder like a blazer-wearing, red-pen-wielding hawk. Fuck. She is so _hot_.

The tip of the dildo circles his dick, lightly at first, but the touches gradually get heavier with each of Changkyun’s labored breaths. Lube glistens over the red, angry thing. The measured, slick motions tug something out of Changkyun; a firelit thread _slowly_ pulled through his spine.

She’s teasing. For no reason whatsoever. She’s his boss. She can do whatever she wants.

“Will you just—”

Her eyebrows raise. Changkyun’s tongue swells against his palate.

“I mean, M. Yoo, will you please...um...” His thoughts fizzle as the circles go back to being whispery, slick, ticklish. Improv is hard enough without all of _this_ on his plate, and Kihyun _knows_ he’s doing the best he can. Changkyun grits his teeth. “M. Yoo —my most favoritest superior, the best boss in the whole wide world— will you do me the honor of engaging in sexual intercourse with me? Would you perform such an act of _generosity_ for a lowly cubicle worm like myself?”

“You are the single most obnoxious person I’ve ever met, Changkyun.” She huffs, somehow making the very air that travels out through her nose seem irritated. Butterflies flood Changkyun’s stomach.

“I wouldn’t have to act this way if you would just pay attention to me in the first place. _You’re_ the one who’s wasting time here. I’m trying to move things along.” He points at his imaginary watch and raises his eyebrows even higher than hers. “We have a team meeting to get to, you know.”

“As if _you_ care about punctuality,” she hisses. The circling stops abruptly, and Kihyun shoves Changkyun’s thighs further apart. She hisses, “Knowing you, you probably need me to check over your work. Fix your fucking mistakes, _yet again_.”

Changkyun isn’t sure how to handle his fingering techniques being compared to paperwork or whatever, but it doesn’t really matter; he’d let her stretch her fantasy in whatever dubious metaphorical places she’d like it to go, so long as she keeps _this_ up. Her middle finger slides into him, palm pushing up against his dick. Her other hand grips his hip with _entirely_ unnecessary force, and Changkyun drowns in the thought that she’s anchoring herself. He gasps for air.

She wiggles around within him experimentally, more probing and prodding than sexy, per se, but Changkyun’s hand flies to his mouth anyways.

“Keep yourself quiet. The whole office doesn’t wanna hear _you_.” 

She doesn’t praise him for trying to muffle his desperate breaths before she even asked him to do so, but it’s _there._ He knows it is because the warmth inside his belly drips all the way down to his toes.

His hands hover over her chest, waiting for a curt nod before they plant themselves over her little tits. With a throaty whine —not quite as muffled as it probably should be— he paws at them, kneading into what's already been flattened and squished by her sports bra, seeking out her nipples. She shivers. He feels like he’s just been handed a big, fat holiday bonus.

“Kiss? M. Yoo, I—” 

Her mouth meets his before he can get through the rest of his half-assed excuses as to why it’s appropriate for mildly hatefucking coworkers to do something as intimate as kissing, but the kiss is only intimate in the sense that their tongues drag against each other, _invade_ each other’s mouths. Way too much teeth and spit, way too quickly. Nothing like their usual quick pecks and plush, quiet makeout sessions. 

Changkyun hangs onto her tie for dear life as slick silicone presses against, into, _inside_ of him. He tries to catch his moan in his throat —he _really_ does— but his brainstem must be more committed to the disobedient role more than the rest of him is because the gravelly noise crashes into Kihyun’s mouth. It's loud enough to be heard over the clack of keys and water cooler gossip, and Changkyun’s stomach flutters at the thought that he’s being heard throughout the office. That he’s embarrassed Kihyun with his poor performance and disobedience once again. 

Kihyun’s own high, breathy gasp is quickly swallowed into a frustrated grunt. Their mouths separate, and Changkyun’s soul is tugged out through his chest like taffy at the sight of her swollen, reddish lips.

“You’re such a disappointment. You’re _pathetic_ ,” she murmurs, setting an agonizingly slow pace inside of him. She winds his tie around her fingers and _tugs_. He bends his knees a bit. He looks up at her.

“I’m sorry,” he replies, using the very last drops of air in his lungs to get the words out. “You work so hard. You deserve so much better.”

“That’s right. I do.”

She moves so fucking _slowly_. He can feel every last centimeter dragging in and out of him. No matter how far he spreads his legs or adjusts his posture, not a single acceptably gross slap resounds. The most pressure he gets is at the back of his neck, where the tie is keeping him tugged down. He has just enough will power left within his heated brain to not grind downwards, to not meet her thrusts— but _only_ just.

“I’m worthless, helpless—” Two fingers trace up his dick, pinching slightly. His brainstem saves his theatre career once more, forcing a choked whimper out of his throat and steering his hands to her shoulders. He _clings_. Worthless, helpless. “I’m nothing compared to _you_ , M. Yoo. You’re perfect. Superior— in _every_ way.”

She shushes him gently, stifling another round of overdramatics before it can begin. She releases the tie to slide her hand up his throat, to cradle his cheek, to _grip_ his hair. She wrenches his head to the side, exposing his throat and making his eyes flutter, but the pace of her thrusts doesn’t change. 

“Right again. You’re on a roll, aren’t you Changkyun?” Her voice takes on a patronizing, sticky tone. 

Changkyun clenches his jaw. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep at this precarious position between difficult subordinate and eager-to-improve coworker. He probably should’ve been more clear on his character from the outset, should’ve storyboarded his office persona or whatever. She’s just so goddamn _mean_ ; he wants to let her take charge and he wants to _make_ her take charge. 

“ _My_ worthless, helpless boy,” she hums and Changkyun slumps against the desk. Kihyun doesn’t mind his back and forth, his lacking character work; he’s hers, no matter what. _Hers._

“Yours,” he agrees, open-mouthed and wet and shuddering.

She slides out of him, wipes her fingers on his shirt, and steps back. She just _looks_ at him for what feels like an hour. His sweat turns icy with the industrial air conditioning. A soft smile creeps into her features. 

Changkyun naively figures the game is up, and his tongue curls around the very beginnings of a request that Kihyun fuck him properly, but she grabs his shoulders and spins him around. He barely catches himself, palms slapping against the surface and sliding papers around, before he’s flattened against the desk. He huffs out a laugh.

Of _course_ she’d want him bent over her desk. Cliche, sure, but sexy nonetheless. Bending the most disrespectful, most lacking, _most sexiest_ coworker over the very same desk that she sends curt emails, fixes his work, _fantasizes_ about him from. Changkyun very much gets why this exact scene took place in just about every scrap of shitty office porn they consumed in preparation for this little exercise.

A hand curls around his torso, fingers grazing the scars on his front and thumb rubbing gentle half-circles over his back. Changkyun steadies himself on his forearms, and twists his head to make eye contact.

“Please, M. Yoo.” He punctuates his words by pressing his thighs more solidly against the lip of the desk. Exposed and needy. The corniness, the cliche of the display quickly eaten up by the tightness in his lungs. Maybe need as raw as _this_ is what’s spurred Kihyun on all along, rather than supernatural improv abilities. Changkyun feels dizzy. “Show me how to do better. I want to learn how to be good for you, boss.”

Kihyun’s nose crinkles at the ‘boss,’ but she nods. So _generous_. She presses her hand into the small of his back. She slides into him once more, picking that agonizingly slow, _dragging_ pace back up. Changkyun scowls at the stack of post-its beneath his nose.

“You’re so good at your job, M. Yoo. The best— at _everything_ you do. You don’t deserve to be embarrassed or disappointed or— oh, _fuck_.” Changkyun’s hips connect painfully with the desk at a sudden hard thrust. The wet slap resounds throughout the office. Kihyun’s breath catches. Changkyun’s cheeks burn. “You deserve to be — _shit_ — promoted to CEO.”

Kihyun laughs lightly behind him. It ruffles his hair. Quickens his heartbeat. He shouldn’t, _really_ shouldn’t, but he can’t help it. He _has_ to risk it. He has to stroke tiny, urgent circles around his dick. Kihyun can’t expect him to just _not_ give into the heat settling in his bones when she has him bent over her desk like this. 

She’s all deliberate motions and high, scratchy gasps. He takes the risk of reaching for his dick, figuring that his boss is either feeling nice enough to let him rub one out, or that he’ll get scolded for trying to come without express permission— a win-win scenario. His fingers get kind of sandwiched between his wet, zinging dick, but if anyone deserves a World’s Best Boss mug, it’s Kihyun, because she just sweetly guides his back into an arch, and adjusts the angle of his hips to give him better access. Changkyun’s heart turns into a half-eaten jello cup left out on the breakroom table.

“I can’t believe you grace _this_ office with _your_ presence Monday through Friday. This company’s so lucky to have you— _no_.” Changkyun’s touches get heavier, less in time to Kihyun’s pace. He’s gonna come, and she’s gonna _let_ him, her disrespectful, undeserving inferior. “ _I’m_ so lucky to have you, Kihyun.”

“You _sap_ ,” Kihyun laughs lightly, and Changkyun comes with a groan. He shivers and scrunches his eyes shut, wet breaths spilling all over her important documents. She fucks him through it, rubs small circles into his back, kisses the crown of his neck. He considers proposing all over again, but figures that what she needs more than another tearful confession right now is an orgasm. It’s a little too soon to renew their vows, anyways, and Changkyun can’t imagine how embarrassed she’d be trying to explain to their friends how the second proposal went down.

He wiggles his hips and gives her a meaningful look over his shoulder, and she, of course, knows exactly what he means. She slides out of him and grants him one heart-aching little smile as soon as he turns around. Bonelessly, reverently he sinks to his knees before her. He’s careful to keep his fingers gentle and his hand movements slow as he gets her out of the strap, so that he doesn’t make too much noise or move her around too much. He wouldn’t want to be rude. He wouldn’t want to embarrass her.

“There you go,” she murmurs. _Encouraging_ him.

His lips part wetly. She steps out of the strap, and he barely even notices how ugly her sensible footwear is, or how silly it looks to see her bare legs still ending in said ugly footwear— he’s far too focused on listening for the whir of the copy machine or the clatter of busy keyboards. They can’t get caught because she has a reputation to maintain. 

Palms laid softly over her tense thighs, he lifts his eyes to hers. He presses a kiss to the spot on her pelvis that’s surely a bit sore from the dildo’s base, putting every last ounce of gratitude and respect into the sweet gesture. She does so much for him.

“I want you to stick out your tongue and stay still,” she hums. 

He nods. Quickly, easily complies. He can do that— it’s the _least_ he can do.

She cradles the back of his head and guides his neck to bend back a bit, eyes too soft for someone who’s supposed to be a frustrated coworker. But, maybe, this is all part of the act. Maybe she’s fallen for Changkyun’s charms after all, despite how many times he’s fucked up on his quarterlies. The thought that Kihyun’s put so much character work into this makes him clutch at his chest, at his fluttering heart. She _must’ve_ storyboarded this shit, keeping so many character traits straight.

She puts one leg behind him —he immediately quirks his own calves to the side to make as much room as possible for her— and pushes the other up against his neatly folded knees. Her thigh brushes his chest. Stale office air blankets his tongue.

With two little fingers, she spreads her lips, then moves her cunt above his open mouth. He stays absolutely still. He waits. He watches her face attentively, lovingly.

“Good job.” She smiles. At _him_. 

He bites back his thanks, lengthening his tongue and swallowing his excess spit, instead. Disciplined. She lowers over his mouth, until it’s all warmth and wetness, all _Kihyun_ against his tongue. She shudders— a tiny, full-body motion, but he feels it reverberate down to his bones.

He thinks about other times, other places with her. Mouth between her lips, tongue worming up inside of her. Knowing _exactly_ how to draw out the sweetest, pitchiest noises from her with every practiced flick and—

“Don’t even think about it. Your boss told you to stay still, so you _stay still._ ” The hushed intensity in her voice —anticipating further disappointment in his performance— cuts through his horny reverie. So, he suddenly works for a mind reader now. Not exactly a conventional choice, but he can work with this. He’s an _acteur_.

He bends further beneath her, back and neck curving to give her better access to every last bit of his mouth. He pushes each breath through his nose. His mouth stays _absolutely_ still. _Completely_ open.

And she stays still, too. The familiar, squishy folds of her cunt envelope his mouth, but he can’t do anything to make her feel good. If she wants him motionless beneath her, a wet hole to stand over, then that’s what he’ll be, no matter how much he _knows_ his motions _could_ be affecting her. None of his usual tricks. A simple show of respect. It’s the least he can do. 

The hand behind his head hardens, flattens. He can feel her fingers tangling with his hair. His back and jaw and knees are gonna be so sore tomorrow, but it’ll all be worth it because her eyes are scrunched shut and her lips are parting around the prettiest groans. And all he has to do is follow instructions, keep her pussy warm and slick in the empty, breathy space between his lips. He feels needed _and_ useless. He feels like she’s _everything_.

“Don’t move, baby. You’re doing a very good job.”

A _very_ good job. He presses his thighs together. Eyes now blessedly fixed on him, her free hand goes to her clit. She starts slow. Changkyun holds his breath as the pads of her fingers roll the hood of her clit back ever so slightly, circling rhythmically. Again, then, again. A half-beat pause between each practiced motion. Changkyun fights to keep his eyes open; it wouldn’t be the first time he was lulled into a weird dream state by Kihyun jacking off, but he wants to be here for every last second of the scene. To give a stellar performance right up until the final bow. 

“ _Changkyun_ ,” she whimpers, and he snaps his eyes open. Her knees bend and she gets heavier against his mouth. She slides two fingers beneath her lips, seeking out the moisture between her folds and his tongue. It would be _so_ easy to help her out by thoroughly wetting her digits with his tongue curled around them, or to just lick _into_ her. _Painfully_ easy.

But he’s just learned discipline. He’s just learned how to follow his superior’s orders correctly. So, he can only hope that she gathers up enough slickness on her own by spreading her lips and wriggling around his mouth. She moves back to her clit, knees still sagging, and Changkyun swallows down the taste of Kihyun.

Her breaths quicken, interrupted by more and more pitchy groans as her pace picks up. Less circling, more _rubbing_. It looks a little desperate. A little needy. But Changkyun _can’t_ help her out. His back trembles and his hands are damp against the floor. Warm spot gathers beneath his tongue.

Kihyun’s hand flies from the back of his head to her desk, the _slap_ of her palm echoing throughout the fish tank and making Changkyun jump. She gasps at the momentary pressure of his mouth against her.

Then, she’s saying his name. She’s scrunching her eyes shut. She's tensing above him and Changkyun can’t help but disobey her orders— _just_ a little bit, just enough to hold her thighs and anchor her through the sharp, tight orgasm. He would never, _ever_ let her fall.

He does, however, smile a little at her pained groan and the way she sort of _withers_ into her office chair like the lead of an excessively emotional drama who’s just learned that their childhood best friend is hot now. She narrows her eyes at him, but there’s no venom behind it. The illusion is shattered. And Changkyun very much likes being the surprise — _hot_ — love interest to Kihyun’s melodramatic lead. 

“You’re so perfect, Kihyun. I love you. A _lot_ ,” he sighs, before obscenely licking the last tastes of her from around his mouth and crawling forward to rest his chin on her knees again. She flaps a hand at him and furrows her brows, clearly too spent for such whorish behavior. So, he continues with the cutesy mumbly voice she likes so much, “You deserve nothing less than the whole wide world. You’re so good to me— the _best_. I love you. You’re so much better than anyone, ever, in all of time—”

“And _scene_.” Kihyun laughs and places a floppy finger against his lips to silence him, but, of course, that’s as good as an invitation to suck her finger clean. He curls his tongue around it and hollows his cheeks, sucking wetly. She raises her brows. He raises his right back. She can’t _really_ expect him to not get a teeny, tiny bit more of what _he_ wants out of her scenario.

“Okay, baby,” she sighs. Pats his head. Closes her eyes. “You did very good. Exactly what I needed. You deserve a little reward— _just_ a little one, though.” Her pretty lips curl around a wry smile.

Changkyun wraps his arms around her bare shins, saving further poetic proclamations of his love for the card that he’ll give her with that new office chair, and maybe a new # 1 Boss mug. He stares up at her tired —but, obviously, still smug— smile, and he knows that he’s never clocking out of what they've got, _even_ if it means more fluorescent lights and ugly shoes and shitty coffee just to please her.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading my corny nonsense <33 hope u enjoyed !
> 
> kudos n comments = another signature on the standard office Thank You! card they leave on hoseokkie’s desk for helping them with their horniness
> 
> u can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/showmeurteef) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/showmeurteef)


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